


Virtuous Impatience

by FanFictionIsMyWeakness



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), But I left that kind of ambiguous, But Tweek is drunk when they have sex, Drinking, Established Relationship, I do not recommend fucking in a night club bathroom, I'm just such a sucker for Craig being significantly bigger than Tweek, M/M, Night Clubs/Gay Bars, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, They're somewhere between 22 and 26, This isn't super hygenic, Tol Craig is tol, Top Craig, Tweek is pretty demanding, and Craig is tipsy, and kind of whiny, and smol Tweek is smol, bottom tweek, but for the sake of fiction they fuck in a night club bathroom, but more sober than Tweek, but that's fine because Craig is into it, dub con?, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFictionIsMyWeakness/pseuds/FanFictionIsMyWeakness
Summary: Tweek wants a night to let loose, relax a little bit, and it's not like they go to bars or clubs very often, so why not? Just this once. Well, maybe because Tweek tends to get handsy when he drinks. And maybe because Craig never seems to mind.ORPublic sex in a nightclub bathroom. That's it.





	Virtuous Impatience

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self indulgent, it's not even funny. Also, this is kind of short. For me, anyway, since I'm used to writing 13-20k one shots.

They have a late dinner, sometime after eight at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant with cheap burgers and cheap shakes. It's greasy and it's friend and heavy in Tweek's stomach, which he isn't sure is a good idea, but fuck it. He's going to have a good time tonight if it _kills_ him.

 

They end up walking to their next destination. It's only two blocks, no sense in hailing a cab and paying that kind of fee when they have perfectly good legs and perfectly thick skin to withstand the cold. Craig is quiet, stone faced, staring straight ahead and taking long strides on long legs -a man on a mission. The cold bites at Tweek's cheeks, a sharp gust of wind blows into his eyes, and he curses Colorado under his breath for having such dreadful winters. Luckily, it's not snowing right now and the cold is more dry than anything else, but it's making his lips crack and his fingers shake and he has to grab Craig's hand for warmth. Craig absentmindedly rubs the pad of his thumb across Tweek's knuckles, a sweet gesture as a way to show his support, to help keep Tweek grounded when his anxieties flare. He's able to forget the cold up until they manage inside and the warmth hits Tweek so hard, his frozen skin begins to burn. He's not wearing much in terms of layers, only his favorite pair of slim cut jeans -tight without feeling like they've been painted on- and a button down, perhaps a size too large, but crisp and white and nicely shaped, especially when he leaves a few of the top buttons undone to show off his collarbones and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows. But it's thin, and really not appropriate for combating the Colorado winter alone. It doesn't matter, though. Tweek is warming up inside.

 

It's dark, seedy looking, and the area near the front door is roped off from the rest of the building. There's a heavy wooden door behind the ropes, further division and muffling the sounds of electronic music and people's voices. Tweek can still feel the vibrations of the bass deep in his sternum, is practically vibrating along with it. Seated just near the door is a burly looking man on a stool, using a flashlight to check people's ID's. The line, which is already shorter than Tweek had expected, is also moving rather quickly and they're up at the front so fast that he didn't even get a chance to fish out his ID. The bouncer gives Tweek an unimpressed sort of once over, as if he's some high school kid trying to sneak into a place like this for the first time with a fake mustache and a construction paper driver's licence. With shaking hands, he digs into the front pocket of his jeans, desperately searching for his wallet and, by extension, his licence as the man check's Craig's. He manages to protrude it after a few clumsy tries and proudly presents it to the burly looking man, who glances at Tweek with reservation, as if he's about to claim that it's a fake. But he doesn't, instead nodding his head and gesturing for the two of them to go on through.

 

Tweek breaths a sigh of relief as he pushes passed the door, one step ahead of Craig for perhaps the first time in his life, and is greeted with the sight of flashing lights, colorful and tacky, and herds of sweating bodies flailing every which way. Most of the residents inside around around Tweek's age, somewhere between their early to mid twenties, and a shocking amount of them are muscular, attractive men, dancing and grinding and making out with equally attractive men. It makes Tweek feel a bit uneasy, seeing that he clearly sticks out from the aesthetic of the crowd -the lone twink in a room full of hunks- and part of him wants to turn around and go back home to his couch and his television and Craig's stupid X-Files reruns. But suddenly, his boyfriend's hand is on the small of his back, a stabilizing touch that brings him back to earth when he starts floating above the clouds, and he gently flows back down, letting out a long exhale. When he looks at Craig, he's greeted with those intense gray eyes, brows furrowed ever so slightly to show his concern. Tweek just smiles and watches as his boyfriend's face begins to relax.

 

“I want a drink.” Tweek says, grabbing on to Craig's wrist and pulling him towards the bar. It's filled to the brim with people, shouting their orders or sitting a top of stools and loudly laughing -loose. It's what Tweek wants right now, to release all this tension he's managed to have built upon himself. And then, maybe, he wants to dance.

 

They have to wait a little bit before the bar manages to clear out and then when they finally get the bartender's attention, Tweek is too nervous to order for himself. There are too many cocktail options, he tries to explain, and he's afraid of picking the wrong one. So he lets Craig do it for him, ordering two Gin and Tonic's for himself and a Sex on the Beach for Tweek. They get their drinks surprisingly quickly, considering how long they had to wait just to place an order, and by now the bar has cleared out enough for them to find empty stools to sit at. They people watch in silence for a bit, partly because it's too loud to properly hold a conversation and partly because they both like to take a moment to observe their surroundings. Tweek is sucking down his drink like nectar, which is dangerous because he tends to get the _worst_ hangovers from fruity cocktails and quite a bit drunker than if he were to get a few beers. But he's already feeling calmer, so he orders another one and resumes scanning the crowd. That however, gets very boring very quickly.

 

So instead, he turns his attention to Craig, who is on his second Gin and Tonic, but is sipping at it slowly, eyes locked on the crowd. He didn't put quite as much thought into his choice of clothing as Tweek had, instead throwing on his old _NASA_  t-shirt, gray and ratty with some sort of grease stain near the hem, and beat up blue tennis shoes. He has a flannel tied around his waist, blue, as is usual, and thick and warm. His jeans are old as well, but Tweek actually likes those jeans. Not because they're good jeans -heaven forbid- but because they look good on Craig. They're faded with some pretty gnarly holes in the knees and frayed edges, but they also fit him like a fucking glove, with an emphasized tightness in the crotch that Tweek can't look at when they're out in public or else his mouth will start watering.

 

He glances back up at Craig's face, which is currently creased and looks vaguely annoyed. He has low set eyebrows and deep set eyes, making him permanently look angrier that he is, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw chiseled by the Gods. There's the slightest bit of dark stubble beginning to appear on his face, and one can only assume it's because he had been too lazy to shave it off. He's gorgeous, Tweek decides, the perfect specimen of masculinity. As he downs the rest of his drink and stands from his place at the bar, he turns his focus on Tweek, leaning down so that his lips are up against the shell of Tweek's ear, trying to be heard over the noise of the music.

 

“I have to piss,” he says, and Tweek is a little disappointed, having been hoping for something perhaps a bit promiscuous. He watches Craig go, scanning over the sculpting of his boyfriend's back, broad and strong and tapering into a small waist matched with small hips, connected to lean arms and long, toned legs. _He_ fits right in, whereas Tweek does not. It's not until Craig is fully out of site that his next drink arrives and Tweek snatches it off the counter almost immediately, sucking it down just as quickly as the first and trying desperately not to think of his boyfriend in those jeans and the way the bulge of his cock can be seen through them like they're made of cellophane. He's so distracted, in fact, by the thoughts of his boyfriend and his boyfriend's massive cock that he doesn't notice when someone takes up the bar stool next to him, and doesn't hear it when an unfamiliar voice starts attempting conversation. As a matter of fact, Tweek doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary until a pair of fingers are hovering two inches away from his face and snapping together. He flinches back, blinking rapidly as his head whips around to death glare whoever just did that.

 

It's a guy, probably in his late twenties, with bright blue eyes and curly dark hair. He has a little bit of stubble on his chin and it looks rougher than sand paper, which Tweek doesn't always mind when it's on Craig, but finds pretty unappealing on anyone else. The guy is smiling, wide and all too plastic and his eyes have something nefarious sparked behind them that Tweek immediately doesn't trust. He probably thinks he's being cute or even charming, Tweek thinks as he doesn't try to hide how his nose wrinkles, along with the rest of his face in utter revulsion, and that's the worst part.

 

“Let me buy you a drink.” He says, smile growing, and Tweek's mouth twitches a little before he can muster up a response. He can feel his eyes narrowing, his brows drawing together, and he hopes to _God_ that he looks as disgusted as he feels.

 

“I _have_ a drink.” He says, holding up his glass, which is half empty by now and Tweek considers slowing down. His head feels fuzzy, his body looser. He's plenty tipsy, and in another ten minutes he might even be closer to buzzed. Which figures, really, since his alcohol tolerance is lower than a child's and he has the body mass of one, as well.

 

“Let me buy you another, you could loosen up a bit.” the guy attempts to put his arm around Tweek's shoulders, be he leans out of reach, grimacing.

 

“Fuck off, man. I'm not interested.” He sounds a lot more confident than he feels, and is almost amazed that his voice doesn't shake, but he thinks this guy must be under the impression that Tweek is just playing hard to get, because he grins and scoots closer and rests his hand on top of Tweek's thigh. He rolls his eyes and pushes it off, only to have the damn thing placed right back on, when he sees Craig emerging from the bathroom. Their eyes lock and he notices something darken in his boyfriend's expression as he strides over. The guy's back is to Craig, so it's a surprise to him when a large hand clamps around the back of his neck, squeezing the tendons between its fingers. Tweek can see the murderous look in his boyfriend's eyes as he lowers his mouth to the guy's ear.

 

“Don't. Fucking. Touch him.” Craig says, and it's deep and growling, but loud enough to be heard over the pulsing music. The guy tries to turn his head, but Craig's hand stays clamped tightly around his neck, keeping him in place. “Get up. Walk away. Leave him _alone_.” Tweek feels hot, his body igniting under his clothes and his mouth waters. He watches Craig take up the asshole's seat as soon as he leaves, glaring something dangerous at the back of his head. He risks it, glancing down at Craig's legs only to find that they're spread and open and showing off the bulge of his cock. Tweek wants to touch it, to place his hand over it, to lick it through the fabric and drop to his knees, right here, right now, and get his mouth around it-

 

“Hey,” Craig says, and his voice is gentle, expression full of concern. “Do you want to go home?” Tweek considers it, but ultimately, no, he doesn't. He wants to stay and to get another cocktail and dance. So he shakes his head no, too afraid that all the profane things running through his mind will be spoken out loud if he dares to part his lips. He swallows, trying to clear his mind of all those nasty things, and tries to smile.

 

“I wanna dance.” He says and Craig looks apprehensive, but ultimately agrees, standing from his place at the bar stool and stretching his arms about his head. His shirt, old and tattered as it is, lifts with the rest of him, riding up to expose those sharp hipbone Tweek loves to run his tongue and teeth over, and he can feel his face inflame, a deep flush reaching all the way down to the base of his neck. Craig's spine pops -or maybe that's the joints in his shoulder- and when he turns to look at Tweek, there's still a remaining spark of annoyance left in them. Not directed toward Tweek, heaven forbid, but still aimed toward that sleazy man who had been feeling him up. And Tweek, although he'd never admit it out loud, _loves_ when Craig swoops in like a white knight and saves the day. Because although he's more than capable of holding his own and taking care of himself (he's been in boxing since he was eight, for Christ's sake!) he generally doesn't _want_ to. Having Craig around to tell assholes to fuck off takes the pressure off. Also, an angry Craig is an attractive Craig and Tweek can't help it if he feels a spark of arousal every time he has the pleasure of witnessing it.

 

Tweek stands to join him, but he seems to have underestimated just how tipsy he really is, because he stumbles in trying to get out of his seat -enough so that Craig has to steady him. Tweek shoots him an appreciative grin and slowly pries himself away from his boyfriend's grasp. He feels dizzy and loose, like all his inhibition has just been tossed out the window. It's a good feeling, he decides as he practically drags Craig toward the dace floor, pressing up against him and swaying in a dance like fashion. His hips are moving more than usual, he thinks, and the only reason he's paying any attention to what his hips are doing his because Craig's hands are resting on them in a touch that's gentle and caring and just _not enough_ and it's driving him _crazy_. He wraps his arms around Craig's neck, pressing himself closer and pushing his hips forward so that he can feel the outline of his boyfriend's cock against his thigh. He rubs in slow, tantalizing circles as he feels Craig's hands tighten their grip on his delicate hipbones. Tweek moans against his ear, and maybe it's a little too loud and a little too exaggerated, but it seems to do the trick because now one of Craig's hands is gripping his ass, squeezing and kneading as he's pressing his body closer, _closer-_

 

“Fuck,” he practically growls against Tweek's ear, who only grins in response. He loves when he can get to this point, when he can be the one to reduce Craig to panting and moans and growls of profanity, because it means that he's done _so well, you're such a good boy, Tweek, fuck, you're so good, oh, oh_

 

Oh.

 

Oh God.

 

Oh _fucking Christ_.

 

That's absolutely Craig's tongue against his neck, lapping at flushed, heated skin, and those are definitely his hands on Tweek's ass, stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans so that there's one less layer between their skin. And yeah, his dick is getting hard against Tweek's thigh and this place is _super_ crowed, and yet Tweek _super_ doesn't care. He kind of feels like they're in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world and able to do whatever they want.

 

“You're such a little shit.” Craig murmurs, and Tweek doesn't so much as _hear_ it as he does _feel_ it, the words vibrating against his throat, hot breath on hot skin. His voice is so low and growling, deep and sexy in that way that makes Tweek's head spin. He needs to get away from all this music and dancing and these people and just find somewhere to be alone with his love. He's getting needy, he thinks that they both are, but he also doesn't want to leave. He's been planning this night for _so long_ , he doesn't want it to end just because he's gotten a little too hot for his own skin. He threads his fingers through short, black hair and presses his leg further against Craig's dick, grinding against it with purpose. He can feel a rumble travel through his boyfriend's body and it thrums against Tweek's chest in a way that makes him feel dizzy and wanted and _needed_. The grip on his ass tightens to an almost painful point but it's _so good_ that it's really not painful at all and he can practically hear all the thoughts running through Craig's mind.

 

 _Goddammit, Tweek, why do you have to be such a fucking tease? You're in so much trouble when we get home, get ready to get down on your knees and_ beg _for my forgiveness. You're a whore, you know that? whore, whore **,** whore_ **-**

 

No.

 

Tweek is not a whore; not tonight. Tonight he's a good boy.

 

It's just that even good boys need to have a little fun every now and again.

 

 

He pulls Craig in for a kiss, searing and messy and _hot_. He wants to open his mouth and let Craig's tongue invade, but he doesn't, because that's for later. When they break apart, Craig is panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks dusted red. He looks almost hypnotized and Tweek wonders, briefly, if he's some sort of secret magician with enchanted lips. He shakes the thought away -literally with a toss of his head- and brings his mouth against the shell of his boyfriend's ear.

 

“Do you want to fuck me?” He asks and he hopes that it sounds devious and hot, but he thinks that he's slurring his words a bit. He can feel Craig's muscles tense as his hands leave their place on Tweek's ass to run up the length of his back, bunching his shirt in the process.

 

“Yeah,” Craig says through a rasping voice. He swallows and tries again. “Yeah, let's go home.” Tweek whines and shakes his head. He doesn't _want_ to go home. He doesn't want to leave. Inside, he presses his lips to Craig's neck, peppering kisses along his pulse in that way that makes him shiver. Tweek wants him impatient, so riled up and turned on that he _can't_ wait to get home, that he's half tempted to push Tweek on to his hands and knees in the middle of the dance floor and fuck him bareback and brutal in front of all these eyes. He lightly sucks a patch to Craig's skin into his mouth, scraping his teeth over it and making him groan, rough and unsteady. “Jesus,” Craig mutters, mostly to himself. “Slow down, honey. I don't want to get kicked out.” Tweek has no intention to slow down, to take his lips and body away from Craig's heat, but he doesn't want to get kicked out, either. They don't go to bars or clubs much, but when they do, it's this one. Tweek doesn't want to lose this place just because he got a little too sloppy with himself. He glances up at Craig with wide eyes, lips full and pouty and hopes to the lord almighty that he looks alluring and not foolish or whiny.

 

“We could go somewhere private?” He suggests, wanting to make it seem like Craig has a _choice_ in the matter, like he's in control. Tweek knows how much he gets off on that, even if he allows himself to be teased and toyed with every now and again. He swallows, glancing around the room and being met with only the sight of other drunk, sweating bodies and Tweek chews his lip in anticipation. He is _not_ going home anytime soon, not before he gets what he wants. It knows when Craig finds what he's looking for because all of a sudden there's a tightness in his grip and he's moving away from their spot on the dance floor with purpose, holding Tweek close as his eyes focus on _something_ in the distance.

 

Tweek is drunk. He's spinning with a mix of giddiness, anticipation, and liqueur, so it's really not strange that his brain is having a hard time keeping up with the rest of his body. He isn't sure where they've ended up until they get their, florescent lights glaring, music a muffled thrum of the base, and door clicked shut. He takes a moment to adjust to the sudden change in atmosphere, realizing that it's a single stall bathroom and that they're the only ones inside. He's sitting on the counter connecting the double sinks, back pointed toward the mirror and shirt already half unbuttoned. If Tweek were sober, he would be wondering when that happened, but he's not, so his focus is instead on Craig, standing between his parted legs, and his mouth, hot against Tweek's own in a harsh, possessive kiss. He's cupping Craig's face in his hands, running his thumb over a sharp cheekbone, and opening his mouth to allow room for their tongues to collide. He can feel warm palms running up his thighs, squeezing them, as a low growl rumbles in his boyfriend's chest. Their lips break apart, but their eyes are locked together in a gaze so intense it's making Tweek squirm. He feels nervous, but it's the sort of nervous that's bubbling over in excitement and anticipation. He threads his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Craig's neck and swallows thickly.

 

“You're such a brat.” Craig says right before closing his teeth around one of Tweek's collarbones. It's harsh, but a _good_ harsh and Tweek has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from loudly crying out. He feels a pressure thrum through his body, ready to explode, and just the feeling of Craig's lips on his body is enough to make him shake. But he steps back, far too quickly, and Tweek whines at the loss. “Get down.” Craig's voice is low, husky, and the sound runs through Tweek's body like electricity. So he does as he's told, like a good boy, and drops to his knees without being asked, already pawing at the zip to his boyfriend's jeans. He pops the button with some struggle, too caught up in his impatience to have much tact, but he knows that Craig likes it when he's a mess, when he needs someone to help him function

 

Tweek can feel his mouth water at the sight of his boyfriend's underwear, gray boxer-briefs tented with his sizable bulge, and he can't help but run his tongue along the fabric in a slow, teasing lick. Craig groans low in his throat, carding his fingers through Tweek's hair and lightly massaging his scalp. He doesn't force his head down, doesn't press him to go any further, doesn't thrust his hips or grip Tweek's hair too harshly. He's gentle, patient, and allows Tweek to go at his own pace, on her own terms. He appreciates it, usually, but tonight he kind of wants to be used and he kind of wants his throat fucked raw. Still, he's too drunk to properly articulate his wants right now, and he knows that Craig will decline at this moment, so he stores that fantasy aside for later. He'll bring it up again when they're both sober and at home and thinking clearly.

 

He tugs down the band of Craig's underwear, letting it rest just far enough down around his thighs to fully expose his cock, which is hard and red and _big_ , the tip glistening with a drop of pre-cum and Tweek doesn't hesitate to slowly lick it off like it's a delicacy. His tongue is slow, moving leisurely, and he fucking _loves_ it when he hears his boyfriend groan, hips twitching ever so slightly. He's slow to take the head into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he inches his head closer and closer, further and further down Craig's shaft, relaxing his throat around it and opening his jaw a little bit wider. He presses the flat of his tongue along heated flesh and slowly draws his head back, a trail of saliva left in his wake before he goes back down again.

 

Above him, Craig breathing his ragged and harsh, and Tweek opens his eyes just to see his face. His head is tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as red dusts across his cheeks. He looks beautiful like that, slowly coming undone under Tweek's mouth and tongue, and a sense of pride flushes through his chest. Tweek is doing _good_ , he thinks, and he gives a particularly harsh suck at the head of Craig's cock just to hear him moan. He does, loudly and without shame, and his fingers tug at Tweek's hair, not necessarily painfully, but harsh enough to convey something. Tweek pulls off and sits back on his heels, staring up at his boyfriend with wide eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Craig is staring back down at him with bright cheeks and blown pupils. He's trying to calm his breathing, which is still heavy and harsh, but has quieted down a bit.

 

“That's,” his voice catches and he has to swallow thickly before trying again. “That's enough. I wanna fuck you now.” Tweek is quick to scramble to his feet, impatience thrumming through his body like a spark of lightning. He digs into the front pocket of his jeans, closing his fingers around a small, travel sized packet of lube, not quite sure if it'll be enough, but also so far gone that he doesn't even _care_ if he'll be sore tomorrow. Craig is on him, taking the lube from his fingers and pressing him against the edge of the counter. It's uncomfortable, but the taste of his lips is making Tweek's head spin, so he can't be bothered to care. He closes his teeth around Craig's bottom lip, lightly, and tugs him closer, tongue just barely peaking out to lap at the skin. He feels hot and needy and confident, more so than is usual, and at the moment, Tweek isn't afraid to say what he wants. He pulls away, holding his boyfriend's gaze as he parts his lips, allowing heavy breaths to escape. Craig is watching him with intensity, hands braced on top of the counter, on either side of Tweek's hips, and noses just millimeters apart. Tweek swallows thickly, running his hands down his lover's chest, along his ribs, brushing over his stomach to feel the hardened muscle twitch under his touch.

 

“I swear to God I didn't plan this.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. He half expects Craig to snort and roll his eyes, to say something sarcastic in return, but he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes locked on Tweek, listening. “I just wanted to get a drink -have fun. But you're just,” he pauses, his breath leaving him in an instant. “You're so - _God_ \- you wore those jeans and, fuck man, the way you just put that guy in his place I just,” Tweek swallows, eyes flicking down to Craig's lips, noticing them turn up into a slight grin. “I can't control myself around you.” Craig doesn't respond, not with words, but rather kisses Tweek hard on the lips, lifting his body to place him on the counter and stand between his parted legs. He feels large, calloused hands grip his thighs, squeezing his skin and running his palms up to grip delicate hips. His touch is rough, bruising. Tweek really, _really_ doesn't care.

 

Eventually, they have to break apart so that Tweek can hop down from the counter and shimmy out of his jeans. He doesn't really like this part, has never been confident enough in himself to feel particularly sexy when he's undressing, but he knows that sometimes Craig likes to watch, so he tries his best to not look as fumbling and awkward as he feels. He's not sure if they'll be able to comfortable position themselves with Tweek seated at the counter and Craig standing between his parted legs, so he turns to face the mirror instead, bending over the corner and presenting his ass like a present. When he glances at their reflections in the mirror, he can see Craig licking his lips, face flushed a thousand shades of red and pupils blown. He doesn't look much better, to be fair.

 

When he feels Craig's hands on him, fingers covered in lube and rubbing slow circles around his rim, he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his head in his arms, which are folded across the granite. He feels both of those fingers push passed his rim, a little too quickly to really be comfortable, but not _painfully_ and _oh_ , okay, once they've started massaging his walls, he forgets about the slight burn. Craig has long, slender fingers, perfect for reaching and touching and pleasuring _everything_ , and when they start rubbing his prostate, Tweek jolts forward, clamping his lips shut to keep from squealing. He feels Craig's other hand rub soothing circles in his back, the pad of his thumb running along Tweek's vertebrae. He tries to speak, to search his brain for some sort of coherent thought, but all his words are trapped in his vocal chords and he can't do much else besides moan and whimper softly.

 

“Are you ready?” Craig murmurs, his breath hot next to Tweek's ear, who can't do much more than nod his head and push his ass out invitingly. The first push inside sting a bit, but that's pretty standard. Tweek thinks that it's possible to have sex without that initial spark of pain for _someone_ , but not him, no matter how much lube they use. Tweek is small, slender and short from years of caffeine abuse, and can't ever seem to gain weight no matter _how_ much he works out, and Craig, well, he _isn't_. He's tall, broad, threaded with defined muscle and perfect bone structure. He's tall and lean, with big hands and big feet and a dick proportional to the rest of him and Tweek really can't get _enough_ of it. Tweek is a little bit of a masochist, really, so he doesn't quite mind that little jolt of pain, that slight burn he feels in the first push, if it means the rest of the experience is _so good_. And, sure, he's never properly been with anyone else, Craig has been all of his firsts and will be all of his lasts, so he can't make a fair comparison, but he doesn't believe he could every be truly sexually satisfied with a smaller cock.

 

 _Oh. Fuck_. He'd moving now, slow at first, but gradually picking up speed, and his chest is pressed against Tweek's back, teeth digging into the crook of his neck, and Tweek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from _screaming_. He pushes back, wanting it deeper, harder, and he wants to say that, but he can't, he fucking _can't_ , because his voice is gone and his head is reeling. He can feel Craig's hips pressing flush against the cushion of his ass -which, luckily enough, isn't as skinny as the rest of him and is actually quick curvaceous in comparison- and they're moving in slow, _agonizing_ circles. He's grinding against Tweek's prostate, milking it for everything it's worth, and Tweek can't help but moan against his skin, legs shaking underneath his weight as they threaten to give out. Just when he thinks that he's going to die from the pressure building inside him, just when he's _certain_ he's going to cum, Craig's hips start thrusting again, harsh and hard and Tweek is certain there are actual tears leaking out of his eyes. He can feel his entire body vibrating, sweat running down his skin as he pushes back, trying to meet Craig thrust for thrust as he chases himself, chases any bit of release he might be able to find, because he's thrumming with anticipation.

 

Tweek whines loudly when he feels Craig pull out completely, feeling empty, but he doesn't mourn his losses all too long because suddenly he's being flipped over, back laying across the counter and legs wrapped around his boyfriend's waist, and pushed into again. There are a pair of lips attached to his chest, sucking his sink between the teeth and probably leaving bruising, visible marks. He feels like he's being pinned down, Craig's weight hot and overbearing on him, and he can feel the sweat running down forehead, but he doesn't care, he doesn't _fucking care_ , because Craig's breathless groans and heavy pants are right against his skin, right next to his heart, on his body, covering him, and he's never felt better in his life, has never been fucked so _right_ , so _good_. It's everything, _everything_ , and Tweek never, ever, wants it to end. But he can't keep holding on to this pressure in his body, he feels like he's going to explode, and with a few more particularly harsh thrusts, he's coming, sinking his teeth into the back of his hand and twisting his eyes shut to keep from _screaming_. Craig doesn't slow down, doesn't allow him the space he needs to cool off and it's overwhelming. Tweek is so sensitive, he feels like his entire body is on fire, and _holy shit_ , this is too much -it's all too much. But he feels so good, better than he's ever felt, and he doesn't want it to end.

 

Tweek isn't sure how much longer it takes for Craig to cum, but he's still disappointed when he does. Sometimes, Tweek thinks he's completely unsustainable, that he'll never, ever, be truly satisfied no matter how long he's getting fucked, no matter how many times he cums, but he also couldn't ask for a better partner. Craig's stamina is through the roof and he has a particular love for chasing orgasms that Tweek couldn't be more grateful for, so really, who is he to complain. Besides, he likes basking in after glow almost as much as he likes sex itself. Craig is still on top of him, breathing hard in the crook of his neck, and Tweek combs his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. When they finally begin to collect themselves, Tweek feels a lot less drunk, but equally as loose and relaxed. He's dressed in nothing, aside from his button down, which is completely undone and hanging off of his shoulders, and there's cum beginning to leak out of him, as well as splattered across his stomach. Craig is still mostly dressed, so it doesn't take much for him to collect himself, just tucks himself back into his jeans and quickly buttons them back up. He doesn't seem to have any visible stains on his clothes, which is kind of a miricle considering how much of a mess Tweek is, and the only thing about his appearance that gives away what they were doing is the messy state of his hair and the redness still lingering in his cheeks.

 

Tweek is a bit slow to cleaning himself off, grabbing handfuls of paper towels and trying to best to scrub his skin clean. He has to button his shirt all the way to cover the hickies, which are dark and plentiful, and struggles with pulling his jeans back on. Craig waits patiently, not saying a word, and when Tweek turns back toward the mirror to inspect himself, arms wrap around his waist and a kiss is pressed to the side of his neck.

 

“You should leave the shirt unbuttoned.” Craig says, mumbling it against hiss skin. “Let people see.” Tweek does as he's told, because even though it's presented as a suggestion, he knows it's an order. He turns in his boyfriend's arms and, without giving it a second thought, latches his lips to the side of Craig's neck, sucking a patch of skin between his teeth and not pulling away until he's certain that he's left a mark. He has, and it's bigger than anticipated, darker too, and very, very visible. Craig's eyes glance toward the mirror, zeroing in on the new mark, and his lips twitch into a grin.

 

“Brat.” He says, but it's loving. Tweek smiles in return.

 

“You're mine.” He says back, simply, and Craig hums in agreement. “Now everyone can know.”

 

“Yeah, well, you're _mine_.” And Tweek is glad for that. He can't imagine belonging to anyone else, can't fathom the idea of being held and loved and cherished by someone in the same way he is by Craig. But he doesn't say this, because it's cheesy and because he doesn't think he'll articulate it very well, so he kisses his lips instead, a short, chaste peck that's still loving and meaningful without being heated.

 

They hail a cab back home, their apartment dark and cold when they get inside, and Craig helps Tweek undress before carefully putting him to bed. It's awfully late at this point, somewhere between two and three in the morning, and they're both too tired and too tipsy to bother brushing their teeth. As he falls asleep, bundled in blankets and snuggled in his boyfriend's arms, he thinks about how he'll be sore and hungover come tomorrow.

 

He thinks it's worth it.

 


End file.
